Among the Flowers
by barefoot11
Summary: James was always good with flowers. He knew their names, and could tell them apart from others. But when he finds a rose and a patch of violets - the same flowers advertised in such famous prose - he learns something he didn't know. Slight Rocketshipping.


_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue…_

James wasn't exactly sure where the saying had come from – poetry, he thought – and he wasn't sure how it continued – he had been away from books for so long – but it simply loved it.

He hadn't encountered many violets along the way, but roses, well – they seemed to find him.

He sat on his heels, twirling one of the many roses he had between his fingers, finding just the way to perch it so he wasn't cut. He stared into the flower's depth, humming a nice tune and tracing along each fold and crevice in his mind.

Darkness pooled at the very bottom of the flower – he could see that, even if he doubted many others could. The lips, bending backward and open, seemed to be bleeding in the brilliance of its color. So many complicated twists and turns made up the middle of it, implying its magnificence and yet subtly suggesting its intelligence.

Roses were smart, he believed so.

But they lived such a dependable life. Once they were planted, all they could do was grow and grow through their earliest stages, looking pretty and cute and desirable. Once they reached their prime they stopped, and yet they hung there; they were stuck at a certain balance, even if they wanted to go higher and higher. Maybe they wanted to climb above the length of their neighbors; maybe they wanted to see more of the world, and explore; or maybe they just wanted to see all that life had to offer them.

They had to rely on anything given to them, at that point, as their limbs began to break and the stems wilted over. Through that they were strong, shining in their independence and catching the eye of all who even merely glanced.

Once they merely glanced, they looked again.

Roses were such perfect flowers, James reflected, and he loved them the most.

As for violets… they were charming, yes; but they resembled many other plain flowers in the way they took shape. They didn't fight for spotlight, and they didn't receive it. But they were pretty, and nice to look at, nice to have around, never dominant. They weren't the subject of romantic metaphors (not usually) and weren't as popular during holidays.

But violets were happy, and James had nothing more to say than that.

He had actually found a violet plant during one of his group's most recent treks – and he had plucked it ever so casually, and hid it within his pocket.

He hadn't remembered it until now.

James pulled it out, placing it next to the rose on the ground.

And the difference was evident; he was drawn more toward the rose than to the violet.

The violet was crumpled, too, despite the fact that it had traveled just as long (or possibly not as long) as the rose; though it had been carried within the same pocket, with the same mannerisms, it just hadn't survived as well as the rose had.

The rose still had its shape and its pride after such a small little event…

...while the violent was crushed, folded in on itself and crying.

James wasn't sure why he was in such an expressive, such a depressive, and such a contemplative mood, but it didn't help the little frown that came over his face as he stared at the two (now lifeless) flowers.

He poked the one, and scowled.

A presence was suddenly leaning directly over his left shoulder.

"What'cha doing?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

James chanced a glance at her. "What does it look like then?"

Jessie spread a cheeky grin. "Looks like you're wasting time to smell the flowers."

"I'm not smelling them," he said, a bit too loudly in an attempt to distract her as he hurried to stuff the plants back into his pocket. "I was simply – looking at them."

"Hey, then let me see!" she demanded, reaching out and grabbing his wrist before he could hide the evidence.

She moved around to sit almost placidly before him, which was odd, since Jessie normally was never calm.

Though slightly confused, James obliged and moved the flowers back out to sit in-between them.

"They're kinda messed up," observed Jessie, initially. "What happened to them?"

"I had them in my pocket this whole walk… they were bound to get rumpled, you see."

Jessie looked up at him, a tiny yet amused smile present. "Oh-kay, then."

Wide and clear sky stretched up all around them. The sun was pleasant, the grass was clean; and the tall trees that surrounded them swayed in the wind.

Jessie began to look at the plants more closely. She lightly brushed the petals, and the stems ("Careful," James had warned, "the rose has pretty sharp thorns…" "Oh, I'm a big girl," she replied. "I can take care of myself."). She tilted her head to catch their views from different angles, and then finally, her fingers rested on the blue mess.

"I like these a lot," she said, tapping them once with her long fingers. "What are they called?"

James frowned a bit more deeply, bewildered about her choice. "Violets," he answered.

"Oh," she emitted upon recalling, "I've heard of these before… never seen 'em, but still."

"And why exactly do you like them?" he had to ask, and he lightly touched the rose to draw her attention to it.

She shrugged, looking between the flowers evenly. "Oh, I don't know. The rose is beautiful and all, of course, but these violets just have something about them. Like…" She shook her head. "No, I don't want to get all poetic-y and stuff; never mind."

He smiled. "You can get poetic-y?"

A soft glare answered him. "Of course! I made up our completely awesome motto by myself, you know. It takes real genius to do that."

James knew she was faking, though he nodded. "Oh, right." But he wanted to hear her thoughts. So he prompted her with, "The violets are just so… plain. Not interesting at all."

"That's exactly what's so cool about them," Jessie articulated, suddenly elegant in her explanation. "They're really plain, so that means there's more to them than what you can see."

That was surely an interesting thing to say. "Oh?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, whatever shows the world everything it has can't possibly have anything more; beneath the surface or otherwise."

He let her continue, his smile shifting into a triumphant smirk.

She looked to the violets again. "And the violets are really easy to see – in that rose you've got, what, like a hundred different things folding around in there? The violets aren't so complicated… and that's pretty cool…" When she caught his gaze, Jessie fumed. "Aw, man! I told you I didn't want to get all poetic-y!"

James wasn't sure if all that she had said was plain poetry, but he understood where she was coming from. "Hey, you're the one who kept talking; not me."

She narrowed her eyes. Her defiance ebbed a bit. "…You're the one talking to flowers…"

He laughed. "I wasn't talking to them!"

"Talking _about_ them! Same thing!"

"It's really not. And anyway, you were too."

She huffed, running her fingertips across the violets' petals again. Then she tenderly picked it up, unusually careful in her manipulations. "Hey, can I keep this? Just to, you know, hold over your head the next time you try to get me to talk stupid again?"

He wasn't so bought on the explanation, but he nodded to her, still smiling a bit. "Yeah; whatever."

Jessie stood up, still cradling the violets within her palms. "I'm going to see where Meowth ran off to. It surely can't be good for him to be on his own for so long… you stay here, and watch our stuff. Don't let anyone steal anything, you got that?"

"Got it," James replied.

And as Jessie walked off, James picked up the last remaining flower and looked at it carefully. Then he brought the rose up up against her retreating silhouette.

He was surprised by the resemblance.

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue._

_Love never crossed my mind_

_before I met you.

* * *

_

**A/N**: I reeeeeally should be writing my essay right now, darn it… but what can you do when Rocketshipping's on your mind? Plus, I'll consider this story as a writing warm-up for my essay!

I hope my dad'll believe that…

Anyway. James was supposed to be the violets, and Jessie as the rose…

And this story was very bad, but it's a first… any constructive criticism? Please?


End file.
